


Death & Judgment

by Sinshine71



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 06:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16403225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinshine71/pseuds/Sinshine71
Summary: Events at the Capitol are getting out of hand, and Billie, in her new role as Death, has to protect the balance of this world,and many more in the multiverse she is now responsible for.





	Death & Judgment

**Author's Note:**

> This fiction was inspired by recent political events, and a powerful desire for Supernatural intervention. With apologies to  
> Dean's possession by Michael at the end of S13, I set the clock back slightly, to allow Dean and some friends from Apocalypse  
> World to play along.
> 
> I really want to thank Beatrix_Kiddo for keeping me sane, supplying me with bits of research regarding all sorts of things,  
> and for her technical assistance. Without you, I might well be chiselling this out in stone.  
> 

Dean stretched his legs out under the table and nodded at the waitress as she refilled his coffee. He was relaxed, a little tired, and looking forward to getting back to the bunker for a long shower and some down time. “We did all right with that nest, hey Sammy? Five of them, two of us, and the odds weren’t even close.”

Sam looked up from his newspaper, affection and amusement in his hazel eyes. “Yeah, Dean, we did okay. I’m just glad we got the kids back home in one piece. They’re gonna need years of therapy, but they got home. We did good.” Sam took a long sip from his water and turned back to the article he had been reading.

“Anything else for us in that rag, or can we go home now?” Dean asked, in a hopeful tone.

“No, this is all political crap. Not that I haven’t thought there was something rotten in DC for a couple years now, but it’s elected rotten, not our kind. But get this: We know the election was rigged by a foreign interest. A few days ago, a major newspaper published an investigation into POTUS’ real estate empire and found evidence of all kinds of fraud. He has mocked assault survivors, the disabled, and people of colour. He’s moving illegally detained children around like some kind of shell game. He’s gutting health care, and the environment, and encouraging neo-Nazi groups. He thinks autocrats and tyrants are role models. And now, his party looks like they are pushing through their SCOTUS nominee, in spite of the doctor’s testimony and his little temper tantrum and his perjury. I keep hoping I’ll catch someone in the White House with their eyes blurring out in a video, so we can go clean that shit up, but sadly, it’s not our mess.” Sam’s voice dripped with disgust and frustration. What he and Dean did was necessarily outside the law, but Sam firmly believed in the legal system, and the political structures of democracy. It was what had drawn him to law school in the first place.

“Yeah, I hear you. But I don’t like our chances to just wipe out the West Wing or the Senate and calling it a nest of monsters. I just don’t see that working out quietly, you know?” Dean signaled for the check and got to his feet.

Sam folded the paper and left it on the table as he stood. “No, we’d be on the radar long before we finished, with a job like that. Let’s just … go home.” They left some cash on the table, Dean shot a friendly smile at their waitress, and headed out to the parking lot. As the brothers approached the Impala, however, they slowed, wary. Billie was leaning against the Impala’s hood, another reaper standing nearby.

“Hey, Dean. Sam.” The brothers stopped several feet away from Billie and the Impala, Sam slightly behind and to the right of Dean.

“Billie,” Dean said, his face impassive, Sam nodding in recognition behind him. Conversations with Billie - now Lady Death - were always interesting. And risky.

“We need to talk.”

Dean smiled slightly, and looked at the second reaper, a stern, dark-haired woman. “Who’s your friend? We’ll listen, but we’d like to know who’s at the table.”

The reaper nodded and spoke up. “My name is Judith. I am a big fan of your work. It was a real privilege to reap Hitler when you killed him. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Sam spoke up, “Judith? The Book of Judith? The Slaying of Holofernes? THAT Judith?” Both Billie and Judith turned to grin at him.

“You told me the taller one was well-read, Billie. I’m impressed.”

Dean rolled his shoulders, getting impatient with the pleasantries. “Yeah, Sam’s the nerd in the family. I like to cut to the chase. You wanted to talk to us. We’re listening.”

Billie gave Dean a sharp look. “Being a big, dumb Winchester again, Dean? We talked about this. You have work to do, and I have the big picture. Judith isn’t here to fangirl at you for killing Hitler. I’m not here to pat you on the back for saving a few kids from some monsters. We are at a turning point, and either my reapers run themselves ragged keeping up with demand, or we harvest a few select souls, and call it Passover 2.0. I need you for that.”

Sam grimaced, and asked, “Passover? You mean with the lamb’s blood on the Hebrew doorways, and the first-born sons of the Egyptians all dying overnight?”

“Yes, Sam, but in this case, it won’t necessarily be the first born, or the sons. In fact, it won’t be children, at all. Death was imprisoned until a decade ago, so he missed a lot of your human history, or he might have taken a hand when humanity lost their minds before this. But the Holocaust was entirely unnecessary the first time, and nearly unbalanced everything. It will unbalance everything this time, if we let it happen. Recent events in your Capitol are goose-stepping down that road at an alarming rate, and the decisions made in the past few days have started a chain of events that will end in global war of the worst kind, if we don’t step in. Based on what you were saying a few moments ago, Sam, I’d guess you already have some idea who I’m talking about, and what’s at stake.”

“You want to clean house in the Capitol? We’re in, but how do we do this? What do you have in mind?” Dean asked, his voice gruff. Anticipation warred with common sense. With the reapers in play, the Secret Service wasn’t going to be a deal-breaker, but they could be an issue.

“We’re going to need Castiel as well, and maybe a few more of your hunter friends. Let’s go.”

 

 

Suddenly, Sam and Dean found themselves at the door to the Bunker, the young sentry Bobby had posted there looking thoroughly unnerved to see four people and a car just materialize. Dean stumbled and found his balance, then gestured at Billie and Judith. “They’re with us, and you really don’t want to mess with them. All clear?”

“Uhhh, yeah, all clear. Bobby says the natives are getting restless. We could use some excitement.”

“Be careful what you ask for, buddy.” Sam clapped the kid on his shoulder as he held the door for Billie and Judith. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

Dean glanced down into the War Room, where Castiel sat with Mary, Bobby and Ketch. Several of the others from Apocalypse World sat around the other tables in the Library, reading books or newspapers. The Bunker, usually sparsely populated with only the brothers and their extended family, was overcrowded now.

As the four of them made their way down the stairs, Bobby glared at them, saying “You know what that nincompoop y’all voted into the Oval Office has been up to the past several decades? He’s a god-damned charlatan, is what he is. So, who’s the idjit when he got voted in, I wonder.”

Billie looked him in the eye and gave him a slow smile. “I like the way you think, Bobby Singer. I might have some work for you.” Bobby bristled, while Mary sat up straight in her chair. The last time she had seen Billie, Castiel had killed the reaper, for her boys.

Castiel stood and drew his trench coat closer around him. “Billie, Judith. It’s been awhile.”

“Castiel. Thank you for stabbing me in the back the last time we met. I appreciate the promotion. Don’t do it again, though, hmmm?”

Judith chuckled at Castiel’s discomfiture. Being simultaneously scolded and thanked by the only being in the Universe who might outrank God wouldn’t be comfortable in any circumstance. Being directly responsible for Billie’s elevation to Lady Death - no, Judith didn’t envy Castiel this moment. Billie took the offered chair, and Judith sat next to her, as Castiel moved to stand next to Dean. Jack, coming in from the kitchen with a sandwich in hand, came and stood next to Castiel.

Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder and addressed Billie. “You brought us back here, you want our help. I already said I’m in, but I’m not speaking for anyone else.”

Billie looked at him, and then locked eyes with each of the others at the table. “Not all of you will know who I am. I am Death. I was the reaper Billie, but I am Death, and I am charged with maintaining a certain … balance in the Universe. I need Castiel’s help, and Sam and Dean’s as well. I could use the rest of you, too, but Dean makes a good point. You will each have to choose for yourself whether you’re going to be involved. As your Bobby Singer has said, there’s a charlatan in the Oval Office, and he and his cronies have set wheels in motion that would ultimately make World War II pale in comparison, if I can’t stop the dominoes from falling. So, before I lay out the plan, are you in, or are you going back to your own world?”

Judith cleared her throat, and spoke up, as a current of fear and dismay shot through the gathered crowd of refugees. “Billie, these people are strangers in a strange land, and not all of them are warriors. Let’s not be harsh.”

Billie levelled a steady glare at Judith, who simply faced her calmly. “There are strangers in a strange land, Judith, and a balance to protect. But you have a point, too, and as Sam mentioned earlier, Holofernes didn’t stand a chance.” Judith inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement, and Billie stood to face the room. “Sam, are you in?” Sam nodded his agreement. “Castiel?”

“I feel I may owe you that much, Billie. And the situation in the Capitol does need attention.”

Billie chuckled darkly. “Yes, you do owe me that much.” She looked at Jack, who was watching her curiously. “You are a wild-card, kid. But I see that these people are important to you. What do you say?”

Jack chewed his mouthful slowly and swallowed before answering. “I think you are the unpredictable one. I don’t know what you are. But what threatens my family must be stopped. And this is my family. I’m coming.” Dean gave a grunt of distress, as Sam flinched and Castiel glanced at Jack sorrowfully, shaking his head. Jack might be young, but he was remarkably strong-willed.

“For the rest of you, you really don’t belong in this world. But events here are out of balance, and the presence of a few dozen out-of-place souls won’t matter nearly as much as what’s coming. If a rough dozen of you are willing to participate, I will let you all stay according to your original plan - _until you figure out how to restore the balance in your own world_.”

Mary stood, and spoke for the first time since Dean had brought Death to the table. “They were the resistance, at home. They learned to fight because they had no choice. They didn’t cause the Apocalypse in their world, but they sure as hell have to deal with it. Is that where things are headed here? A small guerrilla offensive versus near-nuclear holocaust?”

Billie turned to her and nodded. “Yes. A little Old Testament retribution for the corrupt few, or a few short years before the end of days. Are you in?”

Mary gave Sam a small smile. “My boys already said yes. I’m in.”

Bobby growled from his seat in the corner, “Do I look like a ditchable prom-date to you? Of course, I’m in.”

One by one, Ketch, Charlie, and the experienced fighters in the refugee group stepped up. It was time to start planning.

 

 

The President of the United States, Commander-in-Chief, and Leader of the Free World sat in his office, feet up on his desk, enjoying a cheeseburger before his big cabinet meeting. The wheels were turning, and he was pretty damned pleased with how they were going. Well, mostly. The First Lady was still too busy with her quasi-fashion shoots overseas to come fuss over him, and checking into Twitter was increasingly unpleasant. Those stupid liberal snowflakes had the nerve to criticize his leadership? How dare they? Didn’t they know he’d single-handedly made himself a billionaire and turned the economy around? (Never mind the inheritance from his father. Everyone needs seed capital, only granola-eating snowflake liberals don’t get that.) He just had to fill that empty seat on the Supreme Court, and then it would be full steam ahead. He looked forward to his next phone call to his mentor. Being able to boast about his successes was one of his very favourite things to do. That, and golf. He was going golfing again in a couple days, and that was always good, too.

An aide appeared at the door, knocking timidly. They were all scared of him, and they should be. You don’t get ahead by being nice, and you have to pay your dues before you can get ahead. One of these pasty-faced little children would be sitting where he was, one day, but he wouldn’t have to worry about what a bad job they’d do. That was decades away, and really, who cared?

“Mr. President? Everyone is waiting for you next door. When you’re ready, that is.” The self-made man dropped his burger wrapper on the desk and wiped his face before moving to the door. His Secret Service detail stood waiting for him at the door, faces blank. That always irritated him - why couldn’t they smile more? He was awesome. He moved past them, down the hallway to the Cabinet Room. This meeting was important, and so the press wasn’t invited today. They were going over the last-minute details before the final Supreme Court votes were called. Once that seat was filled, the world would be made over in his own image and be grateful for it.

As the President entered the Cabinet Room, everyone stood, with murmured pleasantries as he made his way to the chair reserved for him. “Let’s get this over with - there’s a lot to do still.”

 

 

A tour group made its way around the Capitol building. The tour guide glanced over her flock, appreciating the scenery. She had a real taste for eye candy, and this group seemed to have more than the usual. One very pretty young blond guy, a green-eyed model-hot guy, a very tall long-haired guy, and - hey, equal opportunity! - a striking red-haired woman, not to mention several scruffier types who looked like they were on furlough from the armed forces. Rachel’s phone buzzed. _OMG_ , she read. _You should see this beautiful Brit I have in my group!!_ Apparently, Victoria was having a good day, too. Rachel smiled to herself and lead her group through Emancipation Hall to the Orientation Theater, reciting the spiel she could nearly do in her sleep. As the lights came down for the 12-minute video, the pretty blond boy from her group came over and sat next to her. She leaned over to him to ask if he needed anything and noticed his eyes glowing gold. Rachel thought to herself, she really ought to be more alarmed than this, but she was suddenly so tired …

Once their guide was asleep, Jack stood, and signaled his companions. With a little concentration, Jack was able to convince the remaining tourists in the group that they saw nothing unusual in an armed group of people leaving the theater before the film had really started. As their group slipped out of the Visitors’ Center into the main building, Jack continued to bend people’s minds away from seeing them. They needed to be invisible until they had surrounded the guards at the entrances to the Senate Chamber, which was in session today. He made a mental note to thank Judith for teaching him this Jedi mind trick, as Dean called it. Dean said a lot of funny things, that usually made sense after watching one of his DVDs. Jack figured that if he could just watch every DVD Dean had in his room, Jack might understand him a lot better. Castiel would too, but Jack didn’t quite understand their relationship, and sort of thought it wasn’t his business. He snapped to attention when Sam tapped him on the shoulder, indicating that they had arrived at the Senate wing.

 

 

Victoria kept sneaking glances at the members of her tour group. She had a Mid-western couple, a small family, and a loose group of friends who looked like the most unlikely school buddies ever. She might call bullshit on their having graduated together, but they were handsome and charming enough that even the quiet accountant type in his over-sized trench coat looked like he might relax and enjoy the tour. She particularly enjoyed flirting with the token Brit with the dark hair and the lantern jaw, but if the accountant wanted to buy her a coffee, she wouldn’t say no.

“I might, on another day,” someone spoke quietly in her ear. She looked up, startled that the accountant had gotten so close to her. Had she used her outside voice? “No, but you’re thinking pretty loudly right now, and we need you to be very quiet.” He took her wrist, and Victoria looked into his blue eyes, bemused, and quite sleepy suddenly …

As he eased the sleeping tour guide into a chair, Castiel cast the look-away spell he hadn’t used in years, and his group moved out toward the West Wing. The full Cabinet was meeting in camera today, ideal for Billie’s plan. They worked their way into the press corps offices and disabled the Secret Service team in the corridor outside the Cabinet Room. Castiel reached out with his mind and locked the doors out to the Rose Garden. He nodded at Billie, who stepped into the adjoining Secretary’s Office, as Mary and Bobby each began painting their assigned door frames with holy oil. Billie signaled him on the angel’s frequency, and he motioned for Mary and Bobby to ignite the oil-soaked wood.

 

“Mr. President, I know you think it makes sense to hang onto these kids, but we are opening ourselves to a massive lawsuit down the road.”

“Do not think you can tell me NO! I want those kids moved. The press knows where they are now, and the fucking snowflakes keep sneaking in there with cameras to make us look bad. It’s a bunch of tents and fences, how god-damned hard is it to move them around a bit more?”

The President’s face was deeply flushed, and the Secretary of Homeland Security wondered - hoped, if she were being honest - if he would have a heart attack. She looked around the table, and saw the usual view, of powerful old men deeply interested in a perfectly tidy stack of papers in front of them. The few other women in the room glanced back at her, with the carefully blank faces of favourite targets. The President enjoyed ripping into the women in his Cabinet, and most meetings saw at least two of the women present humiliated. Her colleague, the Secretary of Education, had a pet theory that the only reason the six of them had been appointed was that in the good old days, when the President was just a jumped-up real estate mogul, each of them had had the opportunity to humiliate him and had taken it. Payback, as the saying went, was a bitch. She glanced across the room, hearing an odd sighing sound, and then the doors at the end of the room blew inward, just as both doors into the corridor caught fire. An immense voice rang out, too loud and too close for comfort.

  


O Death  
O Death  
Won't you spare me over another year  
Well what is this that I can't see  
With ice cold hands takin' hold of me  
When God is gone and the Devil takes hold  
who will have mercy on your soul  
  
No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold  
Nothing satisfies me but your soul  
O Death  
Well I am Death, none can excel  
I'll open the door to heaven or hell  
O Death  
O Death  
My name is Death and the end is here.

  


An imposing Black woman stood just inside the doors into the Secretary’s office, wearing a floor-length black leather duster, and holding an ancient scythe that was so tall, the blade was barely visible through the door frame. The Director of the CIA backed quietly into the door nearest her, which opened out to the Rose Garden, but the door wouldn’t budge. She turned to put her shoulder into it and saw that a vicious thunderstorm had materialized out of nowhere. And more terrifyingly, there were three people standing right outside the Cabinet Room doors to the Garden, their long coats not moving in the wind. She glanced across at the two doors out to the main corridor and was unsurprised to see groups of armed thugs waiting on the far side of each conflagration, and her colleagues frozen in their panic. The most powerful people in the land, she thought. Frozen in place like so many snowmen. The woman in the doorway started speaking, and the Director was transfixed. She could feel this Voice in her bones, and it was terrifying.

“I am Death. I maintain the natural balance of the Universe. The whole universe, in all its iterations. Human affairs are small petty things, beneath my notice, until you manage to affect the balance. You don’t _want_ me to notice you. I. Am. Death.

“You are the leaders of this country. You have committed treason, fraud, and countless acts of corruption that favour the comforts of the few, and the now, over the needs of the many, and the future. You have assaulted and harmed people who came to you for care. You have relentlessly undermined those who seek justice. You have subjugated whole groups of people to your power, for no better justification than their difference from you. You have, individually and collectively, perverted the trust of your positions to further an agenda you would deny under oath. By the very virtues your country claims to hold dear, you are unfit to rule. By itself, as repulsive as you all are, this would not be enough to get my attention. But you have set a chain of events in motion that will drastically alter the balance of this Universe, and unbalance others, and I can’t have that. I won’t have that.

“I am here, as Judge, Jury, and Executioner. This is trial by holy fire. If you have the personal integrity and strength of character to emerge from either one of those doors intact and turn this disaster around, you will live. If you do not, you will die. But you will not leave this room without going through the fire. I have set the same trial on your Senate Chambers. Those who have colluded with you to destroy the balance, will perish. Those who have the grit and the grace to fix the mess you have made, will live. We will task them with heavy work, but the world will know that if they survive the trial by fire, they are worthy. And believe me, the whole world is listening now.”

 

 

A woman knelt on her kitchen floor, arms over her head, but the Voice’s song would not be silenced.

A man in his fields shut off the tractor. The Voice singing in his head was so overpowering, he could do nothing else.

A priest glanced around the sanctuary, to see who was Speaking of Death, and Balance. There was no-one there.

A board meeting was silenced, save for the Voice enumerating the sins of the leaders.

A teacher and his students sat immobile in their classroom, as the Voice described a trial by fire.

 

 

As Billie’s Voice rang out across the globe, Judith’s team of hunters began painting the door frames into the Senate Chambers with holy oil. Judith walked to the Vice President’s seat, Charlie at her shoulder, and looked out at the full complement of Senators, gathered to vote on the President’s pet judge. This would likely take awhile; there were so many to be tried, and only three doorways for them to pass through. As the Voice announced that the Senate was subject to the same trial by fire as the Cabinet, the three teams lit the oil, and the door frames caught easily. Panic blew through the Chamber, as everyone realized there was no escape from this. The only way out was through fire.

 

 

Billie continued humming the old spiritual, for the world to hear, and walked into the Cabinet room, Ketch and another hunter securing the last door. She walked around the conference table with her scythe held high, herding the Cabinet members to the burning passages. The first one to brave the flames was the Secretary of Defense. As he passed through the opening, his clothes ignited, and the hunters in the hallway scattered as he flailed, screaming as he was immolated. Castiel stoically maintained his position with a small recorder. The press, after all, were not present for this meeting. Just as suddenly as the man had ignited, though, the fire burned out, leaving a small pile of soot. The remaining accused recoiled in horror and fear, backing away from the doors. The hunters watched in dismay, realizing they were going to witness and record twenty-five fiery deaths that day, and that the Cabinet members weren’t going to just volunteer, now that they knew this was no idle threat. Several had begun to bargain with Billie, or whomever they could make eye contact with on the far side of the flames. The President, predictably, was blustering that they couldn’t force him to participate - he was above the law. Castiel silenced them all with a gesture and bowed his head in sorrow. The trial was fair, he knew - the innocent would be untouched, but that humanity had sunk so low that this was necessary weighed on him. Mary laid a hand on his shoulder in commiseration as she moved to the other blazing door with her own recorder. Bobby directed the hunters into the Cabinet Room from the direction Billie had entered, so as to hustle things along. Two by two, the condemned were shoved through the two flaming exits only to go up in flames, while the fires whispered, the cameras recorded, and Billie hummed. Finally, the President and the Vice-President were the only two left. Billie stopped humming to address them, quietly.

“This is on you, you realize. You, Mr. President, could have made any number of choices that wouldn’t have forced us to this point. But consistently, you chose corruption over integrity. And you, sir, supported him in his choices at every turn. Not once did you even consider asking him to weigh the alternatives. Twenty-three people have already died today because they lacked the moral decency to survive the flames, and that is on them. That the flames came for them, however, is a direct result of your choices, which have threatened the balance at every turn. Go now. Your judgment is waiting.” A few short, pathetic moments later, it was over. The existing executive branch had been extinguished.

 

 

As the Senate had convened for a high-profile vote today, complete with full media coverage, the Chamber was full to bursting with media and support staff, in addition to the 100 senators there to vote. They were all sitting or standing in place, facing Judith at the front of the Chamber, held immobile by Lady Death’s humming. Charlie looked around the Chamber with a sense of awe and trepidation. In her own world, she had never seen the Capitol building, except on TV, when she could be bothered to watch, but here she was, in the Senate Chamber, ready to marshal these people through burning doorways. Charlie was an experienced fighter at home, and she knew this wasn’t going to be like rescuing non-combatants from the battlefield - they weren’t going to be motivated to go. She hadn’t previously given much thought to how busy this event was going to be and was a little appalled at the number of extra people they would have to deal with. “Judith, we have a lot of extra people here. Support staff, interns, media. What do we do with them all?”

“There’s no way out for them, except through the fire, until Billie snuffs it out. The cameramen are here to do a job, and we need them to do it. It’s handy there’s a few media teams still in the Rotunda; we’ll need them to report on the survivors. I recommend we deal with the senators first, as planned, and leave everyone else to wait a bit. If we get a runner, so be it. Speed isn’t the key to these trials, character is.” Judith’s face went blank for a moment, as Castiel spoke to her over angel radio. Death was almost finished at the White House and would bring her team into the Chambers momentarily. Judith cast her own mental net over the room, just as Billie stopped humming.

A few quiet moments later, Charlie’s nerves felt like they were going to snap, and she might just go running for the flames herself, when Billie arrived with Castiel and the rest of their team. Billie strode to the front of the chamber, carrying her scythe effortlessly. Charlie quailed at the sight of it: It was hard _not_ to imagine that blade slicing through you. Billie really didn’t need the scythe to make an impression, though, Charlie thought. She was magnificent all by herself.

 

 

“After what you have heard earlier this morning, you will already have some idea of who I am. But for those of you not paying particular attention, I am Death, and I am here to maintain the world balance your late president was so intent on destroying. The policies and decisions he had put into effect in recent days and weeks would have drawn this world into global conflict that would have had a ripple effect across other planes of existence that you have no knowledge of, and certainly no right to influence.

"Your responsibility to this country was to check the concentration of power in a single office. It was to ensure that the needs of the many were met in ways that safeguarded the future. It was to provide safety and sanctuary to those who needed it. It was to strengthen the machinery of justice, not to corrupt it. It was to foster community, not to sow divisiveness. Some of you have done everything in your power to meet those responsibilities. Some of you have paid lip service to them. Some of you have - like the leaders you followed willfully - relentlessly undermined the efforts of the diligent.

"Your president and his cabinet uniformly failed to pass the trial by fire I set for them. You will face the same trial. You will, one by one, walk through the fire. One by one, we will see what you are made of. The world will know which ones of you have the determination and righteousness to correct the path your country is on, and who among you do not. It will be a substantial challenge. If you survive this trial by fire, know that the world is watching. You will have work to do, and you will be held accountable for it.”

 

 

Sam stood in the entrance to the Rotunda, looking at the various scattered groups of people frozen in place by the trance Billie’s Voice induced. Looking in their faces, he could see that they were awake and aware, but unable to move. Jack’s new Jedi mind trick was useful, but this - this was slightly horrifying. Their team had been able to get into position and get the upper hand without any injuries at all - to themselves or the people who would otherwise have tried to stop them. He knew people often looked at him and saw a killer, but Sam regretted every unnecessary death, and not a few of the mandatory ones. He selected three groups with camera equipment and pulled the vial of myrrh from his pocket. Every human member of both teams had already been anointed with this stuff, so that they could hear Billie, but not be tranced by her Voice. Now he was going to free the news teams and move them into position outside the three doors into the Senate Chambers. Mary had the video files from the West Wing, and they would upload those to the White House website later. He imagined Charlie would enjoy that.

 

 

Dean surveyed the Senate Chambers. He never in a million years thought the family business would bring him here, but here he was, getting ready to walk his share of senators to the blazing doorway at the back of the room. There were a number of people here today who were about to pay the price for being douche-bags, and he was fine with that. Life was tough enough without politicians finding new ways to screw the common folk out of everything they had left. But he knew from years of brutal experience - their families might be clueless. When you send your senator to work, you expect them to come home, unlike policemen, firefighters, or hunters. He shrugged the melancholy off, and turned to the news teams inside the Chambers, pulling out a vial of myrrh. He had work to do, and so did they.

 

 

Mary stood inside the left-most door, one of the refugee hunters at her shoulder. She studied the faces of those senators she could see, but most had their backs to her, facing Billie and Judith at the central podium. She saw a few murmuring prayers, crossing themselves, and more were generally fidgeting. She remembered the last time she had dropped in on a church service, the way the dark-suited men moved down either side of the pews, gesturing to people to go forward for communion, or passing the collection plate for their tithes. In a macabre echo, teams of hunters began escorting senators to the doors, after touching them with the myrrh they each carried in vials. If it weren’t for Billie and Judith singing in harmony at the front, maintaining a form of hypnosis, Mary was certain the scene would be pandemonium. With a stab of anxiety, she saw that the freshman Democratic senator from California was approaching her. The woman walked with her head high, her face calm, a hunter trailing her closely. Mary saw worry in the fine lines at her eyes and mouth, but she wore an air of determination. Before the senator could pass through the flames, Mary extended her hand. “I have watched your Senate career with interest, Ma’am. I really hope to see you on the far side of this fiasco.”

The senator grasped her hand warmly. “I hope we have a chance to talk down the road. As you can imagine, I have some questions about what’s happening here.” Mary could see in her eyes that should that conversation happen, the senator would tolerate no nonsense in getting her answers.

“I won’t pretend to have all the answers, Ma’am, but if we do have a chance, it would be an honour.” The senator nodded at that, straightened her shoulders and her suit jacket, and walked right up to the flames. She stopped briefly, and Mary could see the fear as she took one last deep breath, and a long step forward through the flames. Mary tensed, having already witnessed many fiery deaths that day. The freshman senator turned and gazed back at her through the flames, her suit slightly sooty but unscathed, her face flooded with relief. Mary suspected her own face wore a similar expression.

“What is your name? My assistant will need to know whose call to wait for.” The authority in her voice was unmistakable.

“Mary Winchester, Ma’am. Congratulations on surviving. I watched the people in the West Wing burn, and I’m grateful you didn’t.”

“I’ll be waiting for your call, Mary Winchester. We both have work to do, and I need answers from you to do mine.” With that, the first survivor of the holy fire stalked off, a news team scurrying in her wake.

 

 

Dean took a deep breath, anointed the next senator, and motioned her out of her seat. He ran his eyes over the others shepherding senators to the door in the rear of the Chamber and saw that his team members were already showing strain, when they had only gotten through roughly a quarter of the Senate. The pattern so far had been two flame-outs for every survivor, but Dean figured they wouldn’t know for sure until it was all over what the ratio was. From what Billie had said to the Senate, only paying lip service to the job was as good a death sentence as being full-on corrupt. He started down the aisle to the door, and then realized his senator was still seated. He backed up a few steps and looked the Republican senator from Maine in the face. She was ashen pale, and he could see a fine tremor running through her shoulders.

“You know the only way out is through, right? I’m sorry you’re scared, but Ma’am, it’s time. Please come with me.” He held his hand out to her. No matter what her record or her outcome was, he couldn’t help but feel some compassion for her in this moment. Most people got to go out quietly, privately, without hell hounds or monsters on their asses, and without camera crews ready to broadcast their success or failure as they faced the fire. This particular senator had taken heavy criticism in the weeks leading up to today’s scheduled vote, with a prominent and vocal actor leading a grass-roots campaign to fund her re-election if she voted one way, or her opponent’s if she voted the other. She still hadn’t moved, apparently paralyzed by fear, and Dean gripped her arm and levered her out of her seat. The roving cameraman made his way to the end of the aisle they were standing in. As soon as she saw that, the senator found her feet and stood straight. She refused to make eye contact with Dean, which he shrugged off, even as he gestured for her to move along. He doubted he’d be all that sweet to the person walking him to such an ordeal, either. As long as she went through the flames, it didn’t make much difference to him how she behaved beforehand. She walked up to the doorway, looking neither left or right, the fear clearly at war with the need for some semblance of dignity. The hunter standing inside the doorway reached out to shake her hand before she took the plunge - after Mary had shaken the California senator’s hand they had all started doing this, it just seemed polite - but she disregarded him as if he weren’t there and plunged into the flames. Dean felt the heat blast, as her clothes and hair caught in a dull roar, and the senator’s form crumpled to the ground, the flames snuffing out moments later to leave yet another pile of slightly greasy ash. A Queen lyric passed through Dean’s mind as he watched: _Another one bites the dust!_

 

 

The junior Democratic senator from Hawaii trembled in her seat as the rough-looking man smeared her ear with something that smelled like myrrh and held his hand out to her. It was apparently her turn to go through the flames. She ran her hands down her skirt, took a deep breath, and stood. It was hard to tell from her desk, but the majority of Republican senators who had gone through the flames at the far door hadn’t done so well, and she had been unable to turn and watch how her Democratic colleagues were faring. Rather than let the wait break down her courage, she had spent the time praying. It seemed to her that at this point, praying to survive was cowardly, so instead, she had prayed to whomever might be listening now that her years of service had been enough. That she had stood strongly enough for the principles she held dear. That she had pushed back firmly enough when she saw wrongs being done. Now, though, it was time to find out, and she hoped she could be forgiven the shake in her grip as she took the hunter’s offered hand. She eased out into the aisle and turned to face the door she had come through earlier. She took a deep breath, and walked toward the woman standing there, who had identified herself as Mary earlier.

Mary reached forward, offering a last handshake on her way by, and gave the senator a warm, sad smile. “I will be meeting with the lady from California when this is all over,” she said quietly. “I hope you can be there too, Senator. Maybe it’s time for the women to take the lead.”

“Maybe it is, Mary,” the senator replied. “But first, I have to prove my worth, don’t I?” Mary smiled at her again and rubbed her shoulder encouragingly. The senator nodded, squared her shoulders, and gripped her hands together to control the tremors as she walked forward. The flames hissed nearly inaudibly, as they danced along the door frame. She could feel the heat on her face as she pushed through an intangible veil and felt a frisson of fear as the heat licked over her skin - and faded. Someone gripped her shoulders, and she startled, her eyes popping open to see a tall long-haired man in front of her.

“You’re all right, Senator,” he said, compassion in his hazel eyes. “A little toasty around the edges, but you’re safe.”

She turned to glance back through the doorway and saw Mary high-five the hunter who had brought her to the door. Turning back to Sam, she took a deep breath, grinned and said, “Well then, I think that means I have work to do, doesn’t it?” The bemused grin he gave her at that stayed with her for days.

 

 

The Republican senator from Florida sat in his desk, not nearly far enough away from the flaming door. He prayed for all he was worth, repeating the “Hail Mary” until he thought he’d be dreaming the words for weeks, if he got through this. What was he saying, of course he would get through this. This was God’s holy test, even if the woman at the front called herself Death. And Lord knew, he was one of the most carefully religious men in the room. Again, the senator thought to himself, he sat too close to the door. When he came back after this, he’d see about moving further forward. A gruff older man who looked like he hadn’t worn his Sunday best in years, or seen the inside of a church for longer, came and touched his ear with Chrism, and shook him out of his meditation. “I forgive you,” the senator murmured to him. Piety would only help in these final moments before the flames, he figured. Anything to hedge his bets on getting through.

The older guy rolled his eyes and muttered “Balls!” under his breath as they moved down the aisle to the doorway. A clean-cut man stood just inside the doors, his hand offered in a handshake. The senator shook it, and the man spoke in a clipped British accent. “Thoughts and prayers, Senator. Thoughts and prayers.” It occurred to the senator that his tone was very sarcastic.

Standing in front of the burning doorway, he reached for some snippet of Scripture that might be appropriate. Ruing the fact that it usually took him 20 minutes or more on his browser to select the verses he routinely tweeted to the world, he fished something out of memory.

“The Lord is my strength and my shield, in whom my heart trusts. I am helped, so my heart rejoices; with my song I praise Him.” His voice rang out into the Chamber, and he was pleased to hear it didn’t shake. Then he strode through the flames, confident in his safety - until the faint hissing became deafening, and the heat bit through his clothes, skin and flesh, and into his bones. The pain was engulfing him. This wasn’t supposed to be happening! Oh God! OH GOD!!

Castiel stood in the corridor, hands by his sides, his face tight with disapproval. When the flames puffed out and the ash settled, he looked down at the remains. “He that is wounded in the stones, or hath his privy member cut off, shall not enter into the congregation of the Lord.” Shaking his head in disgust, Castiel walked away, his trench coat billowing behind him. Another sanctimonious ass had failed the trial.

 

 

Jeff set his camera down for a moment and stood straight, attempting to surreptitiously stretch the muscles of his back and shoulders. It wasn’t the longest Chamber session he’d covered but watching roughly two thirds of the senators go up in smoke as they left was wearing on him too. The group that had taken control of the Chambers was fascinating though. He figured roughly half of the group was inside the Chambers, and the other half was roaming the corridors. The gorgeous Black woman who had pronounced judgment on the senators stood at the front, wearing a bad-ass leather coat, and carrying the scariest damn sickle he’d ever seen, as easily as if it was an umbrella. Standing with her, singing very old spirituals in harmony, was another woman, dark haired, dark eyed, and dangerous looking. When the resistance fighters had first appeared, this woman had done something with her mind to freeze them all in place, and he had realized then that whatever she was, it wasn’t human. Whatever the two of them were, their music was holding the room in thrall, except those the soldiers in the group had smeared with myrrh. Jeff scanned the room and realized that they were down to the last few senators, those in the front row. The bigwigs, for the most part. This was going to be important footage, and he shouldered his equipment again. In the back of his mind, though, a small worry grew. After the senators, then what? Would his colleagues and the scattered interns have to go through the flames too?

 

 

Sam stood at the doors to the Senate wing, watching the controlled chaos in the corridors. He had a narrow view into the Chamber through the rear doors, and caught glimpses of Dean, Judith, and Billie as the other hunters moved around inside, releasing the senators from Billie’s trance and escorting them to the doors. He had watched as more Senators than not had flamed out, and while most of the losses were predictable, some had been rude surprises. He couldn’t see what was happening at either of the side doors, but there were teams of hunters and camera crews at each door. He had expected to have seen more survivors by now, but quite a few senators had offices here, and may have sought a moment of privacy, or may even have started strategizing for the coming days. Everyone knew the executive branch was wiped out, and it would be difficult for those who remained to follow constitutional procedure, when the Founding Fathers had had no way of predicting this degree of political annihilation. Sam drew a deep breath, thinking that this was the most terrifying government coup he’d ever heard of. But then, it had been the most terrifying government this country had ever had. Had he become a lawyer, Sam knew he’d have been all over predicting how the surviving senators were going to pick up the mess they were being left with and still adhere to existing law, but he was a hunter now. What came next for Sam and Dean, was more hunting.

 

 

Jack stood near Mary, watching as the Democratic lady from Wisconsin, the last one in their area, walked through the flame, and turned to flash the two of them a thumbs up before navigating the groups loitering in the hallway. He turned to see how many senators Dean and Bobby had left, and saw that they had finished their groups, too. The other hunters inside the Chamber started to drift to the doors, uncertain what to do now. Jack watched Billie and Judith as they ended their song with a flourish. The flames on each door frame suddenly died, and the remaining staffers in the room were freed from Billie’s trance. The hunters in the hallways all gathered in the Chambers, and Billie, Judith, Castiel and Jack each transported a group back to the bunker. Dean would say it was time for a drink.

 

 

“Sheriff Hanscum? I have the mayor’s secretary on the intercom. She says they need you in his office pronto. D’ya think it’s to do with that Voice we just heard?” Donna looked at her department secretary and sighed. The emergency switchboard was lit up brighter than a Christmas tree, and sure as shootin’ she had to go hold Mayor Adler’s hand while he figured out how to swing whatever that Voice was, to his own favour. The whole city was freaked out, and her officers were going to be spread pretty thin for the next while, trying to calm people down. Not to mention, Donna knew who Death was, thanks to her friendship with the Winchester brothers, and boy did she need to touch base with Jody or the boys. Or both.

“Yeah, I’ll head over there, but Margaret? Do you think you can work your magic on a press release or somethin’ that we can send over to the TV station for the news? Not to panic, we’ll share more when we know more, and so on?” Margaret had a way with these things, and Donna knew in her bones she’d be lost without the other woman’s calm organization.

“Yes, Ma’am. Do you want me to give you a safety call in half an hour, give you an excuse to get back here?” There was a distinct twinkle in Margaret’s green eyes. She’d done this before, not only with the mayor, but also on the occasions that Donna had gone out on dates since splitting up with her ex-husband.

“Oh, bless you Margaret, would’ja? Please?” Donna headed out the door, relieved that she would have an excuse to leave sooner rather than later. Adler, that self-important jerk, liked an audience for his pompous windbag speeches, and really liked her to be that audience. He was possibly one of the worst non-policing parts of her job. Stillwater was a pretty quiet city, and he figured that meant she had extra time just for him.

“Heya, Liz! Everybody okay after that broadcast announcement?” Donna called out as she rounded into the mayor’s office. Liz wasn’t at her desk, and Donna’s neck starting prickling, like it did when things got tense in the field. She slowed her roll and called out to Liz again. “Liz, you here, everyone okay?” A frazzled woman came to the door of the inner office, tears in her eyes, and motioned to Donna.

“I don’t know what happened to them. As soon as the Voice stopped, and I could move again, I came in here to make sure they were both okay, and I found them like this. I don’t understand what happened here, Donna. Do you?” Liz’s face crumpled, the tears streaking her cheeks and ruining her makeup.

Donna motioned her to stay back, and eased into the next room, not certain what she was going to find. Whatever she might have been expecting though, the sight of two men apparently turned to stone in their seats surely wasn’t it. “Liz? Is that Marvin Harker with the mayor?” she asked, checking for pulses. In stone. She was checking stone men for pulses. What the hay?

“Yes, it is. He had an appointment, but I don’t rightly know what about just yet. Not until Mayor gives me the correspondence to prepare. Maybe to do with his development on the west side?” Liz stood in the outer office, her usually unflappable manner reduced to tears, hand-wringing and a shaky voice. Donna nodded, and spoke into her radio, directing Dispatch to send paramedics over. Just moments later, Margaret’s voice came back over the radio.

“Sheriff? You should know, Dispatch has been flooded with a whack of calls out for the EMTs. Most of the calls state that someone has turned to stone in the past hour or so. I can re-route someone, but all the EMTs are out in the field currently.” Donna and Liz shared a wide-eyed look. Whatever had happened to Adler and Harker apparently wasn’t an isolated thing.

“Margaret, send the next available EMTs here, but tell them not an emergency. Far’s I can tell, Mayor Adler and his guest don’t have pulses, but they’re stone too. Is Jake still in the Evidence Room?” Donna started checking the scene, looking for any evidence, mundane or weird, mentally reviewing everything Jody had told her to keep an eye open for, but found nothing. Well, nothing but a couple of men who turned to stone sometime while that Voice had been talking and carrying on.

“Yes, Ma’am, do you want me to send him on up there then?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. I need to head on over to the hospital and see what they can tell me. Let the officers know I want full reports on every stone person called in. Are we getting any other types of call-outs?”

“Not really, it’s all ‘What was that Voice’ and ‘So-and-so turned to stone.’ One minor fender-bender near the bridge, but it seems most everyone managed to get safe before getting frozen when that Voice came on.”

“All righty then, Margaret, you hold down the fort, and send Jake up here to seal up the Mayor’s office and wait with Liz for the EMTs. I’ll go to the hospital and find out what I can, and we’ll see what we can figure out.” As Donna sorted out the details of what had to happen next, she couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that the Voice that had held them all captive while senators and presidents burned, was also responsible for this situation. The timing was too tight, and while she couldn’t prove anything, she’d long had her doubts about Adler’s integrity, and had lost any doubts about Harker’s integrity some time ago. If presidents could burn for the content of their character, could mayors turn to stone?

 

 

“Okay, Doc, so what you’re telling me is that while listening to some big cosmic Voice telling us people in DC have to do some Old Testament trial by fire, several hundred Sioux Falls residents just … _turned to salt_??” Sheriff Jody Mills heard her voice crack on that last word and winced. Seriously, though, this whole thing made no sense. She’d checked in with Donna Hanscum in Stillwater, who said they had the same thing: several dozen people had apparently turned to stone, and Dr. Lang was now telling her - in all seriousness - that the stone was actually halite, or …

“Rock salt. Very pure, solid rock salt. Shaped precisely like the person who had been sitting there just an hour before. I’m not going to lie to you, Sheriff, I’ve never seen anything like this before. More to the point, there is nothing left of the human biology in any of the cases I’ve been able to examine. I don’t know what could do that, and I don’t think we can reverse it.” Dr. Lang paused, and sighed deeply. “I will say this, though, Jody, off the record. It couldn’t have happened to a better person than this jerk. I am so damned tired of stitching up his wife and kids over and over again.” Jody looked down at the rock salt figure of one of her least favourite citizens and had to agree. The man’s family would do a lot better without him. Alex spoke up then, having fast-talked her way into this meeting. “This guy was an asshole. So are a number of the other salt people we’ve had come in. The morgue’s getting full up, but they don’t need cooler space if they’re salt, do they? What are we going to do with them all?” Jody looked at her foster daughter with pride and affection. Alex had made a place for herself here and stepped up no matter what the problem was. From the intent way she was looking at Jody now, it was clear that Alex thought this was one of their “special” problems.

“All right then. I guess we figure out what to do with the bodies, while we try to find answers. I have some strings to tug. If I get anything that might help your end, I’ll be in touch.” Jody shook the coroner’s hand, and hugged Alex before heading back out to her cruiser. Next thing, call the Winchesters. She had known who that Voice had belonged to, and she had a good idea they would know something more.

 

 

Ketch looked around the map table in the Bunker, where the group had gathered after being returned from DC. They all looked a little worse for wear, although this was, tactically speaking, one of the simplest and cleanest missions Ketch recalled completing in years. There was no doubt, though, that most of his fellows here had found watching just under one hundred people burn to death exhausting. He was pleased that he hadn’t been required to go through the flames; he had no illusions of his chances. Just then, Sam’s phone started ringing, and after a little fussing, two voices rang out of the conference speaker on the table.

“Hi there!”

“Heya, folks!”

“Jody, Donna, we have you both on speaker with a group of us on this end. Dean and I are here, and so are Mom, Jack, Castiel, Ketch, and some friends from Apocalypse World.” As Sam introduced the people around the table, most of them saluted the speakers with their drinks and saying hello, confusing Jack and Castiel.

“Can they see us?” Jack asked over Castiel’s amused “They’re on speaker, I don’t think they can see you.”

Jody’s chuckle rang out, “Did you all toast us with your drinks?”

Jack took the opportunity to wave at the speakers, “Hello, I’m Jack!” His grin lit up his face, and Ketch noticed a few of the others smothering grins at his enthusiasm.

Donna responded with “Uff da! I can’t believe we haven’t met all of you face-to-face yet! And a big welcome to Apocalypse People!”

Charlie grinned and said hello, but Bobby, ever the curmudgeon, grumbled into his beard.

Castiel spoke up and asked the two women on the phone, “Dean tells me you are both sheriffs in your respective areas. Billie and Judith put a lot of thought into the spell they used for her trance, but were there casualties as a result?”

Jody replied with a bit of an edge to her voice, “As a matter of fact, yes. We have several hundred salt sculptures in our ice rink currently. They were living breathing people this morning, and now they have all been turned to rock salt. Halite, our coroner said. While the great majority of these people have rap sheets longer than my arm, some of them were upstanding citizens, and I for one would like to know what the hell happened to them.”

Donna responded, “Wait, you said most of them were known bad guys? I noticed that with our stone people too, and Margaret just passed me a fax from our coroner, who said the same thing about halite. So, I guess my salt people and your salt people have something in common other than the salt. Sam, what do you know about that stuff?”

Sam’s fingers flew over the keyboard of his laptop. “Like Jody said, halite is the same thing as rock salt. It happens naturally in places like the Dead Sea in the Middle East, and the Great Salt Lake in Utah. And get this - the news feeds from all over are reporting that tons of people have turned to salt. Some really big names too - the Chairman of North Korea, the Russian president, some former heads of state, some corporate types. A few known international gangsters seem to have been turned to salt, too.”

Donna said, “Okay, I think that’s exactly it. The Dead Sea was in the Old Testament. In the Old Testament, when the angels destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, they told Lot to take his family and run, and not look back. Apparently, Lot’s wife did, and I guess she got turned to a pillar of salt in punishment. If the people we know of who got turned to salt were pretty bad guys, I bet we do some digging on the rest of them, and we’ll find out they just did a better job of hiding it.”

“Well that jives with what Billie said when she and Judith left,” Dean commented. “Something about no hope for the wicked. Maybe this was some kind of world-wide reckoning, and the only part we were supposed to be in on was the shock and awe show.” Murmurs of agreement came from almost everyone at the table.

“Okay, so did Billie say there was more work for us to do? Anything else still have to happen?” Sam looked across the table at his mom, who sounded a lot more tired than she looked.

“I don’t think so. Charlie’s already uploaded the videos we took in the West Wing to the White House website."

“Yeah, that’s been up for 20 minutes now, and holy moly you should check out the hit count, bitches!” Charlie grinned, as a small counter in the top corner of the screen she was flashing at them ticked over to a million hits as they watched.

Ketch leaned forward. “Mary seems to have booked a tea party with a couple of the lady senators for a few days from now. I would suggest that after we have cleaned up and gotten some sleep, we think about who will go with her, and what we want out of that meeting. At a minimum, they now know there are more things in heaven and earth, than had been dreamt of in their philosophy. You might as well see about some degree of legitimacy for your activities in the future.”

Charlie started bouncing in her seat, “A Ministry of Magic! How freaking awesome!”

Dean looked over at Sam, and grinned, then turned to Castiel with a wicked glint in his eye. “Well, that’s an epic salt & burn!”


End file.
